Bridges
by riveriver
Summary: A collision on Christmas Eve attracts every journalist in Britain and puts the nation of the edge of their seats, and as Merlin fights to stay conscious, he can't help but insist that it's not his fault. HIATUS
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is produced by Shine Television for the BBC and belongs to Julian Jones, Jake Michie, Julian Murphy and Johnny Capps.

* * *

><p><em>"I don't believe in accidents. There are only encounters in history. There are no accidents."<em>

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

It seemed than an argument with Will, two cars, a broken set of traffic lights at the foot of Chelsea Bridge and an icy road was all that was needed to create a media uproar and draw half of the journalists in Britain to London. The Prince of Wales more than likely had something to do with it, too, Merlin thought vaguely as he was hauled onto a stretcher, and he found he was rather annoyed at the royal prat for it.

"Alright, what have we got here? Give me the stats, Alice."

"BP 75 over 40, pulse 130," the one called Alice replied calmly and automatically. She'd been one of the first on the scene and had been hovering over Merlin ever since, babbling incessantly about fire engines and air ambulances and the Prince of Wales walking around without a scratch on him, and sometimes she had cried something like _dammit, Marlin, do not close your eyes, stay with me! _and Merlin had struggled to comply.

"Got a name?"

"Marlin, I think. He's not doing too good. Possible head trauma."

"Alright, Marlin, how are you doing, son?"

"_Fantastic_," Merlin managed from the stretcher in a burst of disorientating consciousness as they rolled him to the ambulance. "S'not my fault. Oh. My chest..."

"Okay, kid... Yeah, get him in the back, quickly! Alright, Marlin, my name's Elyan. We're going to get you to hospital. Do you understand?"

"Ugh."

"That's right, kid. Try not to talk anymore."

"Is he okay?" a new voice asked from Merlin's side.

"The Prince, or the crash victim before you who is in a critical condition?" the one named Elyan asked hotly. "Jesus, Gwaine, get your priorities sorted out and get him into the ambulance – we need to leave. _Now. _Yeah, thanks, Alice, come on, get in with us. I'm going to need you in the back."

The cold wind was suddenly off his face, and there were bright lights, so many lights, and they wouldn't go away even when he shut his eyes. Merlin grumbled something unintelligible agitatedly. He wanted to sleep so badly.

"Alright, Marlin, we're leaving now. You're going to be okay," Alice murmured softly.

Merlin made a strange, choking sound again and felt someone putting pressure onto his arm. "Chest..." he managed to say from underneath the oxygen mask.

"I know, son," Elyan murmured, then shouted, "Come _on,_ Gwaine! Get us going!"

There were two short bangs that echoed in the vehicle and then the slam of doors, and suddenly Merlin was being lurched about and felt violently sick. Sirens. Loud sirens.

"Alright, son. We're taking you to the hospital. Get through the traffic! He doesn't look like he's going to hang on! Holy Mother of God, I might have to do a clamshell."

"You're going to do a clam while I'm doing a hundred? Fuck me. I'm trying, alright? Just wait! I'm just saying it's not the most convenient of times to have a car crash, is all! Jesus! On the Chelsea Bridge, too! Has anyone forgotten that it's Christmas Eve? Why the fuck are these people on the roads? Don't they have somewhere to be? Come on, kid, move your bloody moped, I don't care... Oh, shit. Move! There we go, that wasn't so hard, was it? Bloody learners. Hang on..."

The sirens tore through the night again, and this time they didn't stop, and neither did the ambulance. Why couldn't they just stop and let him sleep?

"Is he always this unprofessional?" Alice asked as she held an oxygen mask over Merlin's face.

"Always. Hey, Gwaine, you're rambling again."

"It helps me focus!" he protested from the driving wheel.

"Jesus, just shut up a second. This guy doesn't need to become an RTA victim twice in one night. Alice, get me the knife, I'm going to have to do that clamshell if he crashes."

"Looks likely."

"Gwaine, shut up and keep your eyes on the road, please! Marlin, can you hear me? Marlin? Mar—"


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is produced by Shine Television for the BBC and belongs to Julian Jones, Jake Michie, Julian Murphy and Johnny Capps.

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><p>It was proving difficult to open his eyes with an intense light blinding him every time he attempted to take a peek at what hellhole he had been thrown into this time. The effort he put forth in trying to do something so simple was so draining that Merlin couldn't even bring himself to consider how in all that was holy he was going to find the strength to sit up.<p>

He was becoming increasingly frustrated with his own ineptitude, so much so that he almost began thrashing around wildly in the bed. After one last painful struggle, he fell heavily back onto the stiff pillows and listened, because that was something he could actually do.

There was a monotonous beep coming from the side of his bed – at least, that was what he hoped he was on. There was also the scuffling of feet on the other side of the room and a distant buzz of voices, almost drowned out completely by the machines. None of it was recognisable.

He was in the middle of trying to let his aggravation overshadow his growing panic when somebody said, "Welcome back, Mr. Emrys. How are you feeling?"

The voice was too cheerful. It made him want to hit something.

Merlin squinted through an eye and saw a blurry nurse at the foot of his bed. Great. Hospital. "What—"

"You're in the hospital," she said, coming to the side of his bed and laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He winced at the touch and snapped his eye shut again. "Oops, sorry. Do you remember anything?" she asked, but then said for him, "You were in an accident."

"No shit," he croaked as he tried to shake her away and lean forwards to sit up. The light was giving him a headache.

"No, don't get up," she said as she pushed him back down, this time with very little regard to his aches and pains, "you won't be able to manage it, and those tubes need to stay on you."

"Lemme try," he said. His voice was rough and made his throat feel as if it were pierced with needles. He tried opening his eyes again. "I want to get up and—"

"No, Mr. Emrys. Just stay there, alright? You can't walk, anyway."

"Why ever not?" he demanded viciously, trying to lean forwards again. He caught a glimpse of his leg bandaged tightly from the knee to his ankle with an extra brace for support. "What_ happened?" _he cried hoarsely.

"You can't go through a windshield, across a car bonnet and land in glass without so much as drawing blood, Merlin. You have a lot of stitches, _and _you were rushed for emergency surgery. Now sit back."

Merlin grunted unhappily and obliged, muttering something about hurting too much, anyway. There was pain everywhere, filling every crook of his body. There was also an IV needle in his hand restraining his movements.

"Good boy. I'll let the doctor know you are finally awake, and maybe we can get you out of ITU."

ITU? Finally?

She bustled out of the room, leaving him to listen to the monitors that were recording his every breath and heartbeat and trying to ignore the overwhelming smell of whatever hospitals smelled like. It was familiar – he'd been in a hospital bed too many times before.

He tried to remember what had called for a bed this time. An accident, the nurse had said, but what type of accident?

Lights. Ice. The car. Oh, Lord, the car. Will's car.

Will.

Merlin threw his head back and groaned.

"Mr. Emrys," said an old man as he swept into the white room, his head bent over a clipboard. The too-cheerful woman was trailing behind him with a smile that should have ached. "How are you feeling?"

"Are you seriously asking that question?"

"It's polite to ask," the doctor replied, smiling. "My name is Doctor Wilson, but you can call me Gaius, if you want. The nurse here is Elena."

"Sure."

"What do you remember?" Wilson-what's-his-face asked as he set the clipboard down at Merlin's feet on the mattress and came over to Merlin. He began tilting Merlin's head this way and that, apparently searching for something. He looked so contemplative that Merlin didn't answer for a minute so as to not disturb him.

"Er," he said stupidly when Wilson stared down at him with expectant eyes. He was checking the IV on Merlin's arm now. "The car. I was in the car. The roads were icy, and the traffic lights were broken..." he said slowly, trailing off. He frowned. "I wasn't even speeding."

"You were, a little," Wilson injected.

"Okay, so I was speeding _a little_," Merlin said. "But I know it wasn't my fault."

"It's alright, Mr. Emrys, I'm not the police."

"You're acting like it," Merlin grumbled, pointedly staring out of the window. It was dark, cloudy, and completely gloomy. It reflected his mood entirely. "I suppose they'll want to talk to me?"

"I should think so," Gaius said as Merlin met his eyes again. "What else do you remember?"

"Why are you smiling? What's the joke?" Merlin demanded.

"What else do you remember?" the doctor asked again.

"Uh... icy roads... Chelsea Bridge... the other car. The other car... The paramedic... Oh, _shit_. _Shit_."

"I think we can rule out any possible amnesia," Gaius said to Elena as he picked up the clipboard from the bottom of the bed.

"I'm glad," she replied happily.

"Oh my _God_," Merlin said. "Oh bloody hell. Shit. He's not dead, is he?"

"Prince Arthur?"

Merlin groaned at the use of the name.

"No, he's not," Gaius affirmed. His eyes were dancing with amusement, flickering between Merlin and the nurse. "He was extremely fortunate. He barely had a scratch on him."

"So he is hurt? How badly hurt? A little? Oh, I'm dead. I should have just died. I'm going to be killed. I was in a car collision with the Prince of Wales. Oh. My. God."

"Well, Merlin," the doctor said, ripping some sheets off his clipboard and slipping them into a folder. "I'll allow you to rest now. I dare say you will have some visitors, soon. You have caused quite an uproar."

"Oh my God," Merlin was still saying, "I'm dead. It's treason."

"I'll leave you to it, nurse. I'll arrange from him to be removed from the Intensive Care Unit"

"Right-o, Doctor."

"I'll see you soon, Merlin," Gaius said carefully.

"They'll string me up and I'll never see the light of day again. They'll put my head on the Tower of London as an example."

The doctor and the nurse shared an amused look before he left the room and she began fussing with the pillows by Merlin's head.

"We'll get you some food, huh, Merlin? Breakfast isn't usually here until half past eight, but I think we can manage an earlier time for you."

"What's the time now?" he asked. His voice was still raw and painful.

"Too early," she replied. "It's too cold, and it's too early. There, I think I'm done here. Do you need anything?"

Merlin shook his head curtly, not feeling particularly in the mood for anymore conversation. He was angry, now, but he wasn't sure what he should have been directing his anger at: himself, the damn Prince of Wales, the ice, or Will?

Oh, Will.

Memories hit him: the car keys on the coffee table, the screaming, the crying, and the sound of the tyres as Merlin sped out of the drive and up the road. Will banging on the side of the car, trying to get him to stay. Will shouting. Christmas Eve. The bright lights of London. People celebrating.

The nurse watched him out of the corner of her eye as she checked his monitors, but Merlin paid her no mind as he shifted through his thoughts. Eventually, she left the room with a promise to return with his breakfast.

It had been Christmas Eve, but for the life of him, Merlin couldn't remember what he and Will had been arguing mercilessly about. He could remember swerving and the sensation of spinning – almost as if it was still happening – as he pounded the breaks, but trying to control the car had been pointless over the roads that hadn't been lain with grit. He could remember tipping, and then... darkness. When he'd come to, a paramedic – Alice – was working over him and trying to get him to breath and then stay awake. There had been others...

"Breakfast!" the nurse cheered when she came back into the room a while later, balancing a plastic cup, a bowl, a plate and cutlery on a plastic blue tray. She rolled the bed's table forward and set it down. "I managed to sneak it off the trolley for you. It was only outside."

"I don't want it," Merlin grumbled childishly, pushing the tray away from him with his good arm.

"It's good for you."

"S'not. Just a reason for me to get sick and stay in this bed some more so you stay in business."

The nurse – Elena – laughed and shook her head as she needlessly adjusted the blinds in the room. "Hospitals don't _stay in business,_ Merlin."

"I'm your best customer," he continued, regardless. "The best you're going to get. The amount of statements you're going to be releasing and all that money for interviews you'll be offered will serve as proof. Now, can you get these bloody tubes _out of my nose_?"

"Stop being such a grouch and eat your food. You will feel better."

Merlin huffed. "There's no point. I'll be dead soon."

"Not if I have anything to do with it," the middle-aged blonde declared. "Doctor Wilson won't allow it, either."

Merlin thought of persisting with the argument, but he settled for another unhappy grunt and crossed his arms. It hurt, but he refused to acknowledge the pain.

"I'll leave your food there for a while. Your mother will make you eat it instead."

"No," Merlin gasped, his eyes becoming wide. "You would never."

"I would, and I will," Elena said determinedly as she smoothed his bed sheets. "I'm going to tell her that visiting hours start soon. In fact, I'm going to let her in a little early."

"That's not fair."

"Should have thought about that before you decided to have a crash with Prince Arthur," Elena said smugly, her lips twitching playfully. "I'll be back in a tick."

She left him again, and in her absence Merlin drifted, trying to ignore the unrelenting pain in every single limb and every single crook of his body as he thought of how to get out of the mess that was now – and quite franky, had always been – his life.

"He's definitely awake?"

"He woke about half an hour ago, but Doctor Wilson had to talk to him first. Now, Mrs. Emrys, visiting hours don't start until nine, but if anybody comes in and asks, just say I let you in, okay? It is Christmas, after all."

Hunith looked distraught as she was led into the room. She had heavy bags under her eyes, but they were also rimmed red from crying. The sight of her made Merlin want to melt into the bed. An incredible feeling of guilt washed over him.

"Oh, baban," she cried as she threw herself over him. "What were you _thinking_?"

"I'll tell you when I remember," came his muffled voice from underneath her.

"I thought I'd lost you. Don't you ever do that to me again, Merlin!"

"Sorry, mum," Merlin mumbled, thoroughly chastised. "I didn't mean to," he consoled lamely.

Hunith straightened, her eyes full with fresh tears falling freely and unashamedly, and she placed a hand on his bruised, cut cheek. "I know, baby, but really. I thought I'd never see you again. Why weren't you wearing your seatbelt?"

"What happened?" he asked. "Tell me the truth. I can't remember."

She sniffled and tried to compose herself. "Will said you had an argument – about... I don't know, about some boy who'd been out with you."

"Mordred," Merlin supplied, the pieces flying together in his head, and he found he no longer wanted to remember the details.

"Yes. Will said it was his fault. He said he tried to stop you leaving, but frankly, I don't think he tried hard enough."

"I think I nearly ran him over trying to get away. It's okay, mum. Don't blame Will. I was the one not wearing a seatbelt."

"I'm afraid I'm going to," she replied stubbornly, suppressing an angry sob. "He's been grovelling for days."

"_Days_? Mum, what?"

"Didn't the doctor say?" she asked, sounding as genuinely surprised as she could be through her tears. "It's December 27. You've been out for nearly three days. You had big surgery. Doctor said... said there was a hole. The ventricle, he said." Her voice broke half-way through and her hands flew to her face.

He sighed. Merlin had learnt enough Biology to know what she meant, and he wanted desperately to reach up and hug his mum to stop her crying over it, but he still couldn't even sit up. "Oh, mum, don't cry, please. I can't bear it."

"I can't help it. You nearly died! I've been here for days!"

"I didn't die, though."

"No, you didn't."

"I should have."

Hunith swatted her son on the arm. "Don't say such things!" she scolded.

"Ow, mum! Watch it! I just meant – oh, forget it."

"Do you mean the hoards of journalists outside of the hospital right at this minute, taking a picture of everybody who leaves and enters just in case they are a relative of the mysterious driver who got into an accident with the Prince of Wales? You should see the papers."

"Not you, too," he grumbled as he shifted on the noisy fabric of the sheets. "That slap-happy nurse has already given me what's for over it."

"Well maybe next time you will be more careful, cariad."

Merlin scoffed, and even that caused him pain.

"Now – eat."

"There's no –"

"If you tell me there's no point, Merlin, so help me God I will hold your nose and force feed you. You're going to be in here for a while, so you may as well get used to it."

"I'm _so_ glad to be back," he mumbled to himself, and then ate the gruel in silence under his mother's stern glare.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is produced by Shine Television for the BBC and belongs to Julian Jones, Jake Michie, Julian Murphy and Johnny Capps.

* * *

><p>It turned out that the world happened to be dying for even a scrap of fresh news about the Prince of Wales and his near-fatal car accident on the Chelsea Bridge. Miraculously, Merlin's identity hadn't been released, and Clarence House had issued a statement on Christmas Day requesting the public to respect the royal family's privacy and that of the "crash victim's" family, too, in order for a steady recovery for all those involved.<p>

"Just me, then," Merlin had said when he'd read the statement.

As expected, though, the press paid no mind to the wishes of the royals; they were still camped out in front of the hospital come afternoon three days after the accident.

Hunith had given Merlin a stack of newspapers she had been hoarding for him after he had eaten his breakfast, and he had stubbornly pushed himself to read through every single one. They all said the same thing: Prince Arthur was alive and relatively unharmed aside from some whiplash ("What a fortunate tosser," Merlin had mumbled after reading that one), and that the other unknown victim was stable and recovering at the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital in London after extensive surgery. They reported that the crash had been the result of icy roads, broken traffic lights, and slight speeding on both parts, and although they couldn't specify as to why Merlin had been speeding, the papers said a security team had been trying to shake off the paparazzi following the Prince of Wales coming from a party he had been to, and that they had attempted to take him to a safe house until the chaos had blown over. In an attempt to overtake a cyclist, Prince Arthur's driver had crossed a lane and come onto the other side of the bridge, where Merlin had 'appeared out of nowhere'.

"They're not particular about the details, are they? You'd think they would have at least reported the colour of the car," Merlin murmured dryly to his mother as he turned a page of the _Mirror _and began reading conspiracy theories that had been put forward by the public on websites such as Twitter and Facebook.

"I think somebody's trying to cover it up."

"Honestly, mum, you're just as bad as these idiots. It says here one person thinks I was following the bloody prat because we're in some kind of illicit relationship. _Really_."

"If it's true, we could do with the hush money."

"It's not, so don't get your hopes up," Merlin said as he closed the paper and chucked it across the room.

"Merlin!"

He grinned innocently and settled into the pillows. After much pain and swearing, Elena had helped him into a sitting position. The air tubes had been removed from his nose, as had the IV needle, and he had been wheeled out of intensive care and into a private room.

Hunith sighed as she rose from her chair by the window and crossed the room to pick up the newspaper.

"You're honestly not going to keep it?" Merlin asked.

"Of course I am," she said with wide eyes. "We're a part of history now, Merlin. We need the evidence for when you're old and grey."

As his mother came over to him and kissed him on the cheek, Merlin bit back a retort about how he would never live to be that old once King Uther Pendragon was through with him.

"Get some sleep, cariad. The quicker you get better, the quicker you can come home to me."

"You're leaving?"

"I need to make some calls, and I _really _need a shower."

Merlin smiled and patted her hand gingerly. "Don't let the paps get you, and tell Gwen to stop freaking out. You know she'll be a mess."

"Will do. I'll be back later. I love you."

"And don't give Will a hard time!" he shouted as she left.

:-:-:

Time passed incredibly quickly, although when Merlin woke he sleepily thought it was because of the morphine they had put him on which had made him sleep almost immediately after his mother had left.

When he came to, there were people in his room, and Merlin all too happily allowed his eyes to flutter shut in a bid to help will himself back to sleep. He didn't want to hear anything. He was too tired. If they thought he was asleep, he wouldn't have to deal with anything other than fighting his pain. He didn't want to relive what could have been his last moments arguing with Will (who, Merlin realised, was either a very shit boyfriend for not having come to visit him, or who was now decidedly an ex-boyfriend).

"How is he, really?" a new voice asked.

"He's lucky to be alive," somebody replied, and Merlin recognised the voice as Doctor Wilson's. The old man, Gaius. "The paramedics had to perform a clamshell when he crashed en route to the hospital, and when he arrived he had to be put straight onto bypass and rushed into theatre for emergency surgery."

"... Right. So he's pretty bad, then," the first man replied, clearly unfamiliar with the medical terms being used.

"He's started his recovery much sooner than I would have liked to believe, but it might be a long process. He's still with us at any rate, although he is convinced that he is going to have his head chopped off without fair trial. He hasn't been particularly... _reasonable_."

"Why does he believe that?"

"Well – you, sire," Wilson replied uncomfortably.

"Of course," they replied, sounding thoroughly amused. "It wasn't his fault."

"I've tried telling him, as has his mother, but as Clarence House haven't issued a definitive statement in bold letters addressed to Mr. Emrys here saying as such, we cannot convince him otherwise."

"I'll get them onto it. They're still trying to figure out who was pursuing us in the first place."

"I was joking, sire."

Merlin's eyes snapped open at the use of the title when he realised that he hadn't imagined it, and his breath hitched in his throat, but nobody seemed to notice. He was only glad he was no longer attached to any monitors that would draw attention to the stutter of his heart.

"Oh. Right. Well, make him read a newspaper or something."

"His mother has given him several, but it had the site of the wreckage on the front page, and... a few pictures... He read the conspiracies."

"Ah, that one."

"Yes, sire."

"I hope you call one of your doctor friends 'sire' as a nickname," Merlin heard himself saying. "I swear to God."

"Ah, Mr. Emrys, you're awake," Gaius said happily. "How are you feeling?"

"You need to stop asking me that," Merlin grumbled. He slowly rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, not daring to allow his eyes settle anywhere else. If he couldn't see it, it wasn't real. _He_ wasn't real.

"Merlin, the, er, the Prince of Wales..."

"Oh, _God._ Doc, I don't want to die!"

"I told you he was being unreasonable," Gaius said.

"So you did. Hello. Merlin, is it?"

"Yes, but free to call me Marlin. Everybody else does."

"Uh – Doctor Wilson, do you think you could possibly permit me some time with Merlin?"

Merlin was still staring at the ceiling, but he heard Gaius' hesitation and felt hope flicker in his stomach.

"I assure you," Arthur said smoothly, "I just want to talk to him, make sure he is comfortable. It is the best I can do to make up for him being here."

"As you wish, your highness. I'll be outside."

"Don't leave me, Doc!"

"Sorry, Merlin. I can't refuse the Prince – not really, not unless it's in your best interest."

"It _is_ in my best interest if you stay, Doc."

"I'll be outside, Merlin."

Gaius left them then, and there was an unbearable silence, in which Merlin determinedly kept his gaze on the tiles of the ceiling, praying in vain that the Prince would take the hint and leave him to live his common life in peace.

"Tell me, _Merlin_, are you opposed to the monarchy in any way?"

"I was from the moment you put me in this bed."

"Yes, I am sorry about that. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Merlin awkwardly pushed himself up, knowing the heavy painkillers were aiding him like they hadn't before, and he regarded Arthur for a few seconds as he adjusted himself. The Prince of Wales, of all people, was in jeans, a dark hoodie and a leather jacket over it, and looked annoyingly normal. And good-looking. His blue eyes pierced Merlin's.

"Yeah. Wheel me out for a cigarette," Merlin said eventually.

Arthur gaped dumbly at him, "Are you mad? You do know what exactly is outside, don't you?"

"You have bodyguards, don't you?" Merlin countered. "Or are those two beasts you call a security team standing there outside of the door for absolutely no reason?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"Your highness," Merlin added sourly.

They stared each other down for several, long, painful before Arthur shook his head. "No. No, absolutely not," he said. "It's suicide. I'm not even meant to be here, I just felt really bad for you."

"You want to do something for me, and I want you to take me outside! It's not hard!"

"Pick something else."

"I don't want to pick something else."

"You're insufferable!" Arthur growled.

"I can be when I can't smoke," Merlin replied sincerely.

"You're in a hospital, trying to recover from a near-death experience. Giving yourself lung cancer kind of defeats the point."

Merlin sighed dramatically and shrugged. He was tired, and he was hungry, and he couldn't really believe that he was having this conversation. "Hey, the only reason I'm here in the first place is because of—"

"Fine!" Arthur threw up his hands. "Okay! Fine!"

"You're doing the right thing," Merlin said, and it was almost worrying how serious he was.

Arthur rolled his eyes and threw open the door and muttered something to one of the beasts with the brown hair, who promptly pulled up a wheelchair from out of nowhere and then began speaking quickly into his sleeve.

"Wow, people really do that. Talk into their clothes."

"Yes," Arthur said as he wheeled the chair into the room. He put it at the side of the bed and waved a hand in its direction. "Get in, then."

"You really are a prat, aren't you? I can't get into that by myself. I have a busted leg, and everywhere else is just about unmovable!"

"You sat up alright."

"Fine. Watch me fall out of the bed and hit my head on the side of the arm on the chair and then have to spend more time in this damn hospital, and it will be all your—"

"Alright!" Arthur cried as he began shrugging out of his leather jacket. He threw it over the seat Hunith had occupied and rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie. "Come here."

Merlin froze, his eyes bulging from his head as the Prince stalked toward him. He hadn't thought of _that_. "Oh, no, I was joking. No, I can do it."

"Shut up. I'll just chuck you in."

"Thanks," Merlin said dully.

Arthur's hands snaked under Merlin's bare legs and around his back, and the blonde lifted him expertly from the bed. Arthur set him carefully into the wheelchair, and Merlin tried to ignore their close proximity and held his breath, suddenly frighteningly aware that he was in nothing but a thin hospital gown.

"You're nothing but skin and bone," Arthur said as his hands slid slowly from underneath Merlin's thighs.

"We can't all eat like kings, you know."

"Funny."

"It is."

Merlin was in considerable pain, but he sat straight and cradled his arms in his lap after straightening the gown to look somewhat dignified as Arthur began to wheel him out of the room.

"Leon. Merlin here is determined to get his cigarette, and we need to give him it."

"Hello," Merlin said cheerfully, craning his neck up to the brown-haired beast.

"Sire – I've already spoken to Perce outside. There's no way we're going to get out there."

"I have promised this gentleman a cigarette, and that is what he shall get."

"How noble of you," Merlin chimed in.

"Surely there's a back entrance? A fire escape?" Arthur asked as he looked between Leon and the other bodyguard. "It's the only thing that's going to get him to shut up, and we owe him the favour. We were the ones to put him in here, after all."

The two beasts looked at each other for a moment, and then the unnamed one said, "Stay close to me," and then they were off down the corridor, Arthur pushing Merlin in the wheelchair with Leon behind them and the other leading the way. Merlin was grinning happily in spite of the absurd situation. The Prince of Wales was pushing his wheelchair.

Why wasn't Gwen or his mother here?

"The Prince of Wales is pushing my wheelchair," he said.

"Don't get used to it, kid."

"Yes, sir!"

"The morphine's making you crazy."

"Do you know how much of the shit they've given me?"

"Get in the lift," Leon ordered. "Ground floor. Don't get out first."

It was awfully quiet as Arthur crammed Merlin into it and stood behind the chair and the two burly bodyguards took positions beside them. Merlin was feeling woozy. They eventually came onto the ground floor, and the two men moved in tight formation around the Prince, who pulled up his hood and pushed Merlin behind Leon.

It shouldn't have been possible, but Leon found a fire exit, and then they were out in the winter sun and... there were paparazzi _everywhere_.

"Shit."

"Sire, go back! Back up!"

"Christ!"

There were excited shouts and flashes of cameras that fried Merlin's brain after Arthur had spun him around, and then Merlin was flying back along the corridor, feet pounding behind and beside him as somebody stayed and forced the door closed and locked it from the inside. Merlin had to refrain from squealing so as to not annoy the Prince even more, and then they were in the lift, and Leon was on the opposite side of the doors and shouting at the Prince to go up without him, and yes, they would deal with it, and would they please go back to Gaius, it would be handled with.

The elevator doors closed and Arthur all but collapsed on to one of the silver walls. "Fuck! Did we really do all of that just because you want to smoke?" Arthur asked breathlessly.

Merlin was laughing, holding his sides as he trembled in his hysterics. Definitely the morphine.

"It's not funny! We're lucky they only snapped photographs of the back of our heads!"

"Oh, it is, it is funny," Merlin said as he spluttered in the wheelchair and tried to find his own breath. The elevator rang and the doors opened, and a female voice announced the number of the floor they'd come onto. "I don't even smoke."

Arthur stared down at Merlin's unruly raven hair. His expression changed from one of disbelief to outrage in a split second. "You _idiot!_"

Merlin's face was streaked with tears as he leant back into the chair and let his head fall onto Arthur's stomach behind him. "Oh, God, let's do it again."

"I don't think so," the Prince said, still looking down at Merlin. Their eyes met, and Merlin remembered he with a sickening twist of his stomach that he was still in an ugly hospital gown and stuck in a wheelchair with his leg strapped up with cuts and bruises everywhere on his face, looking utterly and completely dreadful, _and _that he had his head against the Prince's stomach.

Merlin stopped laughing.

Arthur looked torn between the desire to scoff and cry out in rage. "I'm taking you back to your room," he announced through gritted teeth.

"Are you sure we can't go for a cigarette?"

"Shut up, Merlin."


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Merlin is produced by Shine Television for the BBC and belongs to Julian Jones, Jake Michie, Julian Murphy and Johnny Capps.

* * *

><p>Arthur pushed Merlin back to his room in stony silence, and although Merlin could practically feel the anger seeping out of him, he was glad that Arthur couldn't see the idiotic grin that was plastered on his face as he was wheeled along the corridor.<p>

Gaius was the first to rush towards them, stopping them in the process. "Your majesty – please forgive me, but what on _Earth _happened? We've just had a call from your security team..."

Merlin had the decency to look sheepish as the doctor bent down and quickly assessed him, but Arthur huffed in response and manoeuvred the wheelchair around Gaius and pushed Merlin into the room, leaving the doctor stunned.

"Your majesty?"

"Don't worry, Doc," Merlin said loudly as Arthur walked them away, "he's royally pissed off."

"I'll have you know, _Merlin_ – that is undoubtedly the last time I _ever _try to do something nice in a moment of guilt."

"See what I mean, Doc?"

"I'm not sure I do," Gaius said as he side-stepped out of the doorway and allowed Arthur to stalk past him. He turned back and watched the Prince continue down the corridor for a moment and then swivelled to Merlin, a frown crossing his old features. "What did you do to him? He shouldn't be walking off – oh, dear, that Leon fellow told me to keep him here..."

"He asked me if there was anything he could do for me, so I asked him if he could take me outside for a cigarette," Merlin said airily as he eyed the bed before him, wondering how the hell he was meant to get into it without any help.

"I wasn't aware that you were a smoker," said the doctor cautiously.

"I'm not," Merlin said before he twisted around in the wheelchair to face the doctor and waved a hand in the bed's direction. "Does he really expect me to get into this by myself?"

"Merlin – you can't do that to the _Prince of Wales_!"

"He asked for it."

"God, boy. Hang on – no, no, don't try and get up," he said hurriedly as Merlin began awkwardly heaving himself forwards onto the sheets. "Oh, Gods, wait there."

"_Ooof_. Where do you expect me to go?" Merlin yelled into the sheets with his arse off the wheelchair's seat and hanging in the air as Gaius left the room.

:-:-:

If that was the last that Merlin ever saw of Prince Arthur, he decided that it was okay and he didn't give a shit.

After Elena – who turned out to be surprisingly strong (or maybe Arthur was right and Merlin really weighed nothing at all) – had helped him back into the bed and pulled the bed sheets over him, Merlin watched through the screen of his room that looked out onto the corridor as Leon and the other unnamed bodyguard ran up and down the halls for five minutes, and then disappeared altogether. The hospital ward was left in a state of panic as word got around the Prince Arthur had been at the hospital and had somehow managed to escape from their clutches unnoticed, and nurses began frantically running up and down the corridors in the same fashion Arthur's chaperones had.

Nobody had come to remove the wheelchair – Elena had shoved it into a corner of the room as she'd given Merlin a stern telling off for getting out of bed – and occasionally Merlin would stare at it, and the happy smile would return to his face as he remembered.

Yes, it'd be okay if he never saw Arthur again, because he had made a fool out of the Prince and that just pretty much completed Merlin's life. The rest of his dreams no longer seemed to matter.

Merlin had missed lunch due to his morphine-induced sleep, but food was given to him by a saviour in the form of Guinevere who burst into Merlin's room, looking very much like his mother had earlier that morning: frantic eyes rimmed red and with heavy bags around them that indicated a lack of sleep.

"Merlin! I've been so worried!"

Merlin barely managed a smile. Consoling his mother had been one thing, but consoling Gwen was something else entirely. She had a bunch of flowers in one hand and a plastic carrier bag in the other, and she dropped both on one of the many chairs as she rushed over to the bed and gathered Merlin in her arms.

"Sorry for ruining your Christmas, Gwen," he said after she allowed him to breathe again.

She sniffed and furiously blinked back her tears that threatened to fall. "Oh, it's okay!"

"It's not."

"No, it is! I mean, not okay that you were put in the hospital—"

"And I nearly died," Merlin pointed out helpfully as he tried not to cry himself.

"And you nearly died," she added quickly, nodding her head, "but, Merlin, seriously. You didn't ruin anything! _Prince Arthur's_ Christmas, maybe!"

Merlin grinned. He'd been waiting for this. "Yeah. Poor sod. But pretty good, huh?"

"It's brilliant!" Gwen cried before she realised what she had said, and her hands clapped to her face. "I mean, it's not brilliant that you—"

Merlin grinned. "I know what you mean."

Gwen pulled her hands from her mouth and made a face. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he said, still grinning. He patted a space beside him and began budging to the side of the bed. "Come sit."

"I can't – you hurt too much."

"It's fine," he said through tight lips. He'd thought that he had been covering up the amount of pain he was in quite well. "Just come and sit, Gwen. You still don't look like you really believe I'm alive."

Gwen hesitated for a moment, and then tentatively climbed onto the bed to sit beside him. When Merlin clasped her hand in both of his, she held onto him tightly and smoothed his hair off his forehead gently. "I can't believe you."

"Yeah. You look shattered."

"Thanks," she said, rolling her eyes as he ruined the moment. "I took over the shifts when your mum had to leave you sometimes, but mainly we sat together and... you know, waited."

"As you cried over my bedside, I suppose."

"Yeah, actually."

Merlin's face fell. "Oh, Gwen."

"It's okay. I'm just sorry I wasn't here when you woke up. I can't believe that the one time Hunith and I aren't here, you wake up!"

"You know me," Merlin said in an attempt to be cheerful. He settled his head onto her shoulder and found himself feeling oddly relaxed as she ran her fingers through the back of his raven hair. The simple gesture was better than the morphine, and he felt a surge of affection for his best friend.

"Have you had any other visitors?" she asked curiously after a while.

"No, why do you ask?"

"Why is there a wheelchair? And whose leather jacket is that? Oh, Merlin... Did Will come?"

Merlin's lifted his head from her and his eyes flickered to the other side of the room. He swallowed thickly. "_Oh_."

"Merlin?"

"Uh, Gwen... don't panic, okay?"

"What?"

"The, um – er. The Prince. You know, of Wales. He was here."

"Merlin!" Gwen squealed. In one second, she had jumped off the bed and scurried to the chair, leaving Merlin to fall back onto the pillows and groan in her excitement. "You have Prince Arthur's jacket! Why the hell haven't you smothered yourself with it?"

"I only just realised he'd left it! I didn't know!"

"Liar!" Gwen hissed, but it came out as more of a gentle, soft whisper while she cradled the jacket as if it were something sacred. Merlin was half-expecting her to begin crooning down at it.

"Gwen, put it back. Put it down. No, Gwen, don't _sniff_ it!"

"Do you want to smell instead?"

"Oh, Jesus. Gwen, please, put it down," Merlin urged as if she were a small toddler. "Leave it alone."

"Merlin. Why exactly do you have his jacket?"

Merlin frowned, then, and it took him a few seconds to remember. "He took it off," he concluded lamely, embarrassed all of a sudden.

"_Why _did he take it off?" she asked, her eyes dancing with accusation.

"I don't actually know, I think he was just showing off so he could roll up his sleeves and look manly."

The look in Gwen's eyes became dangerous. "Merlin! Why did he roll up his sleeves?"

"He picked me up, alright, to put me in the wheelchair!"

"Merlin Emrys," Gwen started slowly, "are you telling me that the Prince of Wales _picked you up_ and _put you in a wheelchair_?"

"Yes."

"Omigod!" she cried loudly as she bounced back over to Merlin with her fists tight around the jacket and jumped onto the end of the bed. "Tell me _everything_!"

:-:-:

During Merlin's tale, a grumpy nurse that wasn't Elena came into the room three times to ask whether Gwen could possibly find it in her to keep her voice down because, apparently, she was "distressing other patients", but every time she left the room with a resounding bang of the door behind her, Merlin and Gwen would only dissolve into fits of giggles, and Gwen would resume her squealing and endless questions.

They tucked into the carrier bag of food she'd bought: grapes (because "that's what you're meant to do when people are sick, Merlin,") and a really large tin of Cadbury Roses, Lucozade, water, and yet more chocolate. They ate happily as Gwen nattered about Arthur and whether he would come back for his jacket or if he would visit Merlin again or if he would come in and sweep him off his feet, and please could she be bridesmaid at their wedding? because apparently being in a car collision with the Prince of Wales made you future husbands.

The fourth time the nurse entered the room, Gwen snapped, "Oh, give it a rest you old bat, I'm leaving anyway!" and sidled off Merlin's bed. She pressed a million kisses into his hair and his face and she very nearly took Arthur's jacket with her when she went, but Merlin called her back and she reluctantly left it behind with a pout of her lips.

"I'll be back tomorrow."

"I might be out tomorrow," Merlin said hopefully.

"I don't think so, Merlin."

"Ah, well, it was a nice try. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Love you, you little tart," she said, her eyes flashing to the jacket.

"Oh, just go!" Merlin laughed. "Before you get me into more trouble!"

Gwen fled from the room with pink cheeks, and Merlin began finishing off the chocolates they had left, because _anything _would be better than the monstrosity he expected to be given for dinner.


End file.
